


Where the Waywords May Go

by seagullandcroissant



Category: Tintin (Comics), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Injury, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Mystery, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seagullandcroissant/pseuds/seagullandcroissant
Summary: Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. This wasn't supposed to be a trap, a setup. But, there Skut was, back pressed against the wall, with only a bullet or two to spare.And, someone was coming around that corner.Or, a fanfiction written in short parts back and forward between me and a friend, where we're both blind and neither of us knows where the other will take it next.





	Where the Waywords May Go

Panting and sweating, Skut tried to make himself smaller than he was. Lanky legs and bony elbows wedged into some alleyway corner, pressed against shadows, with an automatic drawn.

Stupid! Stupid! He cursed internally, taking a shaky breath, How could they have not seen this before?

It had started last Friday, really, at Tintin's old flat, moving furniture and packing the last of years awaited boxes. It had been two years since he'd lived in Marlinspike and Mrs. Finch was more than happy to have her long awaited mover _finally_ get his crap and leave. Of course he'd paid the rent while he was away, chasing questions and criminals and black coats. He'd even pecked her on the cheek before he left. Mrs. Finch would be missed, dearly, of course. And they thought it'd be the last they'd ever hear of that old place.

That is, until, when sweeping the empty flat, Mrs. Finch found a letter addressed to the old renter and forwarded it to him.

Scrawled handwriting had detailed a nearby smuggling deal, a treacherous member had written the streets of the next shipment of arrival, upon a freighter in the port.

They would've called the police, they really would've, except that when looking at the clock, it read 10pm, less than 10 minutes before the shipments arrival. Much to his protest, Skut intended to travel along. No way was the boy and his companions going alone.

Except, how they have not have smelt it being a trap? A clever one at best, Skut mused, shifting through his pockets for extra bullets, playing on that dumb spark of the moment action. Real smart.

He looked around the stinkin bin he was hiding behind, muffled gunshots ringing out in the port. There was the barking of a dog, men yelling, tins being turned over, a huge commotion.

He heard something else, someone approaching. Skut's eyes widened.

And seeing he was only two bullets full, prayed they, whoever they were, wouldn't see him in that dark corner.

* * *

Haddock pushed open the front door to Marlinspike, returning from his nighttime stroll of the grounds, in awe of the endless stars overhead.

"Tintin!" he called. "You've got to see-" he stopped abruptly in the dark hallway. Where in the blue blazes was everybody?

"Tintin!" He called again, turning into the den. "Skut!"

The dying embers of the fire were enough to illuminate the shadowy shapes of the furniture, and reveal the absence of the reporter and pilot.

Turning to search upstairs, he felt a scrap of paper under his boot. Picking it up, he saw Tintin's hurried scribble scrawled across it.

_Captain,_

_Skut and I have just recieved word of a smuggling happening tonight at the port. Be back as soon as possible._

_-Tintin_

"Blue blistering barnacles!" Haddock grumbled, turning and running into the foyer.

"There you are, sir!" Nestor cried, coming down the stairs as Haddock barreled towards the door. "Where are you going?"

"To save Tintin and Skut from a gang of smuggling troglodytes!"

"Smugglers?"

"According to Tintin! You know he can't ignore the opportunity to bust an undercover operation!" Captain Haddock shouted as he ran outside again, jumping into his car and making for the port.

* * *

Skut held his breath.

The person was coming closer, shoes squeaking against damp cobblestones and gently uprooting a can. It rolled in his direction and Skut pressed himself against the wall again, seeing if he could sinking into the brick.

 _Don't look._ He prayed, hand coming up to cover his open mouth, _Don't look._

The footsteps and rustling stopped.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, damping his button up, his pilot uniform sticking to his skin.

Biting his tongue, he reached into his pockets.

He couldn't see who it was, only felt their presence, a warmth of another human being, breath between lungs.

His fingers fell on a bullet and, as meticulously as possible, he loaded it.

The gun clicked and the figure shot around, uprooting newspapers and trash in his wake.

Skut shot up from his hiding spot.

"Freeze!" He screamed.

Then there was the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

Haddock swerved into the parking lot close to the port, barely waiting until the car was off before leaping out and bounding towards the shipyard.

Gunshots and yells echoed off of the brick buildings as Haddock dodged between the walls, hoping against hope that Tintin and Skut were safe.

The sounds of fighting grew closer, until they sounded like they were coming from just around the corner of Haddock's hiding spot. Haddock silently picked up a trash can lid to use as a makeshift shield, finding a pole to use as a weapon, if needed. The sounds grew louder, and Haddock steeled himself before running into the alleyway.

However, he had underestimated the distance to the fighting, and found himself facing empty shadows. He began to creep forward, inching towards the sound of a barking dog.

Suddenly, a figure ran backwards into the alley in front of him, holding a gun pointed the way he had come. Haddock caught a flash of red hair and a small white blur before the figure was swallowed in darkness again.

"Tintin?"

Tintin whirled around, gun pointed at Haddock, and froze.

"Captain! What are you doing here?"

Captain Haddock rolled his eyes. "My nighttime stroll took me further than I expected. What do you think I'm doing here?" He looked behind Tintin. "Where's Skut?"

"He's over here!" A harsh yell sounded from around the corner, and Tintin fired a shot before running to Haddock, the pair ducking behind a sturdy brick wall, Snowy at their feet. There was silence for a moment, a moment tense with anticipation, but no figures ran past their refuge.

Without turning to look away from the entry, Tintin whispered, "It was a trap, set by none other than Allan Thompson. Right when we got here, Allan came at me, and Skut tried to take out some of the other men between us, but had to retreat. I haven't seen him since." He took a shaky breath. "I hope he's okay."

"What happened with Allan?"

Tintin shook his head. "I thought I heard Skut yell, so I ran in this direction. Allan was following, but I think I lost him in the crowd."

"Then who was following you just now?"

"One of the other sailors. I didn't recognize him." Tintin raised himself slightly from the crouching position he had assumed and crept towards the entryway, Snowy right behind him. "We need to get going if we want to find Skut. The crew will be over here soon looking for us." His brow furrowed. "It's odd…"

"What? What's odd?"

"Since we've been hiding back here, it's been silent."

"And?"

"Well, the crew isn't going to shoot at each other, now are they? So that means that they don't know where I am, and are probably on their way over here now. And they either have Skut, or he's hiding somewhere, waiting to be found." Tintin met Captain Haddock's gaze. "And we have to find him before they do."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Haddock stood, gripping his lid and rod. "Let's go get him."

At that moment, a gunshot broke the silence, echoing throughout the shipyard.

Tintin gripped Haddock's arm. "Skut!"

* * *

_This wasn't happening._ Skut thought, hands trembling with the weight of his gun, _This isn't happening. Wake up._

Lowered to a knee, Skut could only stare as the crimson pooled off his shoulder, arm hanging limp at his side.

Fingers found its way around the wound, pressing to stop the sudden bleeding. Grimacing, he looked up to face his attacker, raise his arm in an attempt to defend himself. Only, an attack never came. Instead, Skut was surprised to find a circled figure on the ground, a pained gasp emitting from the hunched figure under the sweater.

Standing unsteadily, Skut rushed over to the figure, kicking the gun they held in their lose hand. Hands trembling, he held his own weapon tighter, metal pressing against the wound of his now useless shoulder.

Looks like he wasn't the only one to get hit.

He stared at the moaning figure, and cautiously, took a foot to turn him over in order to properly see his face.

Skut felt his eyes widen.

"Tom." He breathed, mouth falling open in a breathless gasp. His eyes hardened, "Where's _Allan?"_

A breathy, almost gurgling laugh escaped the sailors lips, the man grimacing and curling up shortly after, "Gone." He hissed, "Coward ran the moment he got the chance."

Tom gave a lopsided frown, pressing both his hands into his side as a purple stain spread across his sweater, "Lucky ass. May he rot."

Skut blinked, "He not bring you with him? I thought you friends."

"The word you're missing is _were_." Tom hissed, "We _were_ friends."

A heavy silence hung over them both, humid, hot summer air and still pumping adrenaline making them sweat in the buzzing night.

Skut shook his head, raising his automatic, "Doesn't matter. Those gunshot would cause anyone to call police. They be here any minute. Hope you smuggle in prison."

Tom, through his discomfort and pain, raised his head, "Wh-What the hell you talkin' about?"

"The note," Skut explained, breath shuttering, "there was note. Said there was undercover operation here. Said your crew was part of it."

Tom's eyes widened. His breath wheezed, a bit of crimson dribbling out his mouth and down his chin.

"We're not smuggling anythin'. Haven't been, for months now."

"Bull."

"Itsa truth! I _swear_." Tom gasped, "Look. I know i gotta history. I - I get it, but, you gotta believe me!" He paused, a hand finding its way around the pilots ankle "Whoever sent you that letta' was a damn dirty liar. A cheat." He paused again, breath caught in his chest, "We was set up. We was…"

There were the sounds of rapid footsteps approaching the alleyway and Skut, in a flash of blonde hair and stained blue shirt, raised his automatic to whoever was barging in.

Friend? Foe? Skut didn't know.

But, he wouldn't be a sitting duck again.

He was prepared for anything.

* * *

"Tintin, wait!" Haddock grabbed the back of Tintin's sweater as the reporter made to fling himself into the waiting alleyway.

"Skut!" Tintin protested, panic making its way into the usually calm reporter's voice. "Captain, he's hurt!"

Haddock could hear hurried footsteps in the alleyway, and pulled Tintin down beside him, slinging an arm over him. "Wait!"

The reporter obeyed, arms twitching with fear and rage as the crewmembers ran past their sanctuary, their shadows dancing across the pair's faces. Snowy shrunk against Tintin's legs.

"That Tintin kid's gotta be around here somewhere!" A husky voice spoke from just outside of their alleyway. "Split up and find him!"

Haddock and Tintin locked eyes, and, with a nod to Tintin's unspoken plea, Haddock released the young reporter and grabbed his weapons again. Silently, Tintin stood again and crept towards the voices. Haddock stood behind him, waiting. After a moment, Tintin whispered. "We won't be able to get out of this alleyway without them seeing us. And there's way too many for us to fight off _and_ escape to find Skut."

"What do you suggest, then?" Haddock asked, but Tintin was already scanning their alleyway, his usual in-control demeanor returning as he did so.

"Where can we go?" he muttered, pacing towards the back of the alleyway.

Haddock risked a glance towards their enemies. "They're getting closer, Tintin."

Tintin tugged on something in the shadows; Haddock heard the faint creak of metal. Tintin sighed. "It'll have to do."

"What'll have to do?"

Tintin whistled softly, and Snowy ran to him, allowing Tintin to tie the dog securely to his back with his coat. "We'll have to go to the rooftops, Captain."

Without any further instructions, he grabbed a hold of the rain pipe he had been testing and began to climb, ignoring the quiet, yet ominous creaking.

"Tintin!" the Captain protested. "There's no way it'll support both of us!"

"It'll have to," Tintin said matter-of-factly from above him. "Are you coming?"

Grumbling, Haddock hoisted himself onto the metal pipe, climbing up carefully behind the reporter.

A shout sounded behind him, followed by a gunshot that lodged a bullet into the pipe below Haddock's feet. Haddock yelped, but Tintin calmly turned and, balancing precariously with only one hand on the pipe, returned fire.

Another muffled yell, and Tintin turned and scurried up the pipe, turning to kneel on the rooftop, firing at their attackers. Haddock scrambled up as fast as he could, bullets raining around him but never quite hitting their target. Tintin continued to shoot from above him, only stopping to help the Captain hoist himself onto the rooftop.

"Go!" he yelled, firing the pipe until it broke away from the wall, preventing pursuit. Haddock backed away from the edge, crouching behind a tall vent until Tintin joined him.

"The first gunshot was that way," Tintin said, pointing towards the bay. "We'll have to go across the rooftops. It'll be faster."

"What about the alleys, Tintin? We can't jump those."

"We'll figure it out as we go," Tintin said, eyes landing on an abandoned ladder laying beside them. "We can use this as a bridge."

And without waiting for Haddock to protest, he pushed the ladder across the alleyway and crawled across to the other side, Snowy still tied to his back.

"You can do it, Captain! Just don't look down!"

Haddock had no choice but to follow, gripping each rung with white knuckles, fearing the long drop from the tall buildings. Tintin hauled the ladder onto the rooftop behind him, then ran to the other side.

"I can see them, Captain!"

"Who?" Haddock said. "The crew or Skut?"

"Skut! He's just over there!" Tintin's face clouded. "He IS hurt! His shoulder, by the looks of it!" He squinted at the dark figures that Haddock had only just begun to make out.

"Who is that with him?"

"One of the crew," Tintin muttered, looking down at the ground below. "We've got to get down there!"

"The gutters on the other side," Haddock offered.

"No, the crew will be over there."

"They'll be over here before too much longer," Haddock replied.

"No, they won't. This alleyway is walled off on their side. They can't get to us from here." Tintin's eyes landed on a rusty fire escape. "Of course!"

He jumped down, landing on the top landing of the fire escape and quickly climbing down. Haddock followed, sliding more than climbing down. Gunshots still rang out behind them, but Tintin only cared about the figures not far from their alleyway.

By the time Haddock had climbed to the ground, Tintin had untied Snowy from his back and set the terrier on the ground again. Snowy shook himself out and began to trot towards the entry of their alleyway.

"Come on, Captain!" Tintin whispered, raising his automatic once more. "Skut isn't far!"

And without further hesitation, the pair charged around the corner.

* * *

Footsteps. Coming. Rushing closer.

There were the shouts of men, their pursuit, metal against concrete.

Something was happening.

They were getting closer.

"Shit!" Skut muttered, "Shit! Shit! _Shit!"_

Tom, grimacing stared at the man as he looked wildly about, automatic trembling in his hand.

"What is that?" Tom muttered, eyes drifting towards the sound. "What's going' on over there?"

Skut didn't even pay any mind to his question, choosing to turn his back to the disarmed man for a place to hide.

There were trash cans, rain beaten cardboard boxes, flat and useless.

He had only one bullet and arm. He had to take them by surprise. Hide behind something large, then come up from behind.

Only, there was a problem, unrelated to bullets and handiness.

He glanced down at Tom.

"Can you get up?"

Tom, baring his teeth, gave a sputtering laugh, "Do ya' think I would've waited if I could?"

Skut, face growing hard as flint, placed his automatic in his hip holster, sighing in defeat.

There was only one way this could go.

"Here." Skut snapped, croutching down, "Don't make sound. I mean it."

Tom, eyes narrowing, spat. "Fat chance!" He shouted, filling his lungs and opening his mouth to scream.

Skut narrowly had time to muffle his shout with his free hand, fingernails digging into his skin.

"Shut up!" He hissed, wenching the man up to a sitting position, "Shut up or I swear!"

Tom, in his panic, began to fight, against Skuts grip, gaping open wound in his side forgotten as his hand found their way around his wrist.

"Let me go!" He choked, "Let me go! Halfwit!"

Paying no time to insults, Skut grabbed the man's lapel and, with limbs hanging, managed to drag the limp, wounded man behind a leaning wooden palate. Stumbling, Skut fell back behind it, and forcing his wounded appedance to move, pulled Tom in with him, the body falling atop of him. Tom squirmed in an attempt to push himself off and up, but, with a quick hand, managed to wrap an arm around his neck and chest, pulling him further behind.

Tom, through the dizziness in his pain, gave a weak muffled scream, limbs failing uselessly in an attempt at escape. Skut pressed the automatic to his back, hissing close.

"Don't move. I still have one."

Instantly, the struggling and movement stopped, Tom falling back against Skuts chest weakily. It was a relief, he could see. The man's face was turning ashen, and his hands weakly clutched his side again, blood still flowing but a bit slower now.

Just in time, too. Skut mused, as the footsteps finally began their heavy approach into the alleyway.

He was prepping on turning his gun to shoot, when the soft barking of a dog could be heard in the near distance, and he saw a familiar set of wingtip shoes step into the alleyway.

Skut, hand lowering, felt his eye widen in shock.

"Tintin?"

* * *

"Skut?"

Tintin's call seemed to greet an empty alleyway. Haddock crept up behind him, looking around the shadows.

"Tintin?"

"Sh!" Tintin hushed him. "I heard my name, I'm sure of it!"

Automatic drawn and pointed, Tintin crept further into the alleyway, Snowy and Haddock just behind him.

"Tintin! Over here!"

"Skut!" Tintin dropped the automatic and ran to his friend as the pilot rose from behind leaning boards. "You're hurt!"

A groan sounded from behind the boards, and Haddock roughly pushed them aside to reveal-

" _You_."

Tom lay on the ground, weakly clutching at his side, where dark blood was pooling on the ground around him.

"Captain, no!" Skut protested as Haddock glared daggers at his fallen former crewmate.

Haddock looked over to the pilot, who was now seated on the ground, Tintin anxiously holding a wad of cloth to his bleeding shoulder.

"He set up. Just like us."

"Set up?" Haddock growled. "It was one of them that sent the note and got us into this mess!"

"The note…. Lied…" Tom moaned weakly, harsh breaths rattling in his chest.

Haddock glared at him again, then started as Tintin rushed past him to hold another cloth to Tom's side. With a sigh, Haddock turned towards the entry to guard the group.

"Why would someone send a letter about a false operation if not to be a trap?" Tintin asked.

"I don't know…" Haddock heard Tom murmur. "We ain't smugglin' nothin', I swear…."

Shouts rang out from the alleyway, causing the group to jump. Snowy growled.

"Time to go!" Haddock said.

"Can you stand?" Tintin asked Tom, who shook his head.

The shouts were getting louder now, and Haddock grabbed Tintin's arm. "We need to go. NOW."

Skut, breath panting, pulled himself back to his feet.

Indeed, the footsteps were coming closer. Fast, drumming feet of men as they came closer, looked further.

Skut shared a glance with Tintin before staring at the curled figure of Tom, still bleeding on the filthy cobblestone.

He swallowed.

"We can't leave him."

Haddock whirled around, shocked. _"What?"_

Tintin looked calmly back at him. "He's coming with us."

"So, what? We're taking a hostage?"

Skut and Tintin were already standing Tom up between them, a limp figure supported between the two. They shared a glance. "Yes. Yes, we are."

"And we do it quietly as possible."

Haddock stared at them in disbelief. "Why?"

"We need information," Tintin said, as the three began to approach Haddock like odd 4 legged race contestants. "Are you coming or not?"

Through bated breath, they followed Haddock to his out of sight car, tucked away at the edge of the parking lot near the port. However, as it came in sight and they emerged from the dank and dark pathways, the whiz of a bullet came flying over their heads, and the three conscious men looked behind them. The burly forms of dark men came around the corner, brandishing their weapons high over their heads and screaming like sirens.

Despite his his injured shoulder, Skut pulled Tom's hanging body closer, grunting as it pressed against his own, throbbing wounds.

"Get to car!" Skut half-shouted, "Quickly! _Quickly!"_

"Open the trunk!" Tintin called to Haddock. "Captain, _open the trunk!"_

Not pausing to question, Haddock flung open the trunk of the car, helping the two others to shove Tom's limp form into the compartment, then slammed the door closed, not paying any mind to possible fingers or toes trapped in the door. Scurrying, he jumped into the car, pulling away as Tintin and Skut pulled their doors closed.

The sound of squealing tires rang out into the air, drowning any sounds of fire as they tore across the asphalt streets and into the darkening night. A dog barked, a woman shouted from a nearby apartment, and the sleepy sounds of sirens made their way towards the port, Haddock's car and headlights slicing in the opposite direction.

Skut, white faced and just as white knuckled, kneeled over in his seat, face pinched.

_Well, so much for leaving quietly._


End file.
